


Winter Wonders

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bullying, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, flatmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-08 01:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: In a cold winter night Jemma Simmons finds her fellow student Leo Fitz sitting on a bench in a park. When he tells her he got kicked out by his father, Jemma decides to help. (Flatmate AU / Friends to lovers)
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 28
Kudos: 90





	1. Jemma

It’s snowing for the first time this year. Thick soft floating flakes get caught in Jemma’s hair and on her blue scarf, sprinkling it with white momentarily, before melting and only leaving tiny wet spots behind. Jemma can still feel the pleasant warmth of the two mugs of mulled wine she had on the Christmas market and the sweet aftertaste is prickling on her tongue. The pleasant scent of cinnamon, vanilla and orange is still lingering in the air.

Jemma smiles when her friend Susan locks arms with her as they’re walking through streets already decorated for Christmas. Pine garlands are hanging between streetlights and chains of light spread a soft golden glimmer, multiply reflected by the shop windows. It’s a nice evening, Jemma decides. The fact, that they have holidays and there’s no work to be done for any classes is only making it better.

Jemma has always been a hardworking student. She has gotten through school with the best grades and was immediately accepted at the Shield academy, fortunately. At the academy, no one is giving her strange looks when she reads textbooks at lunch or stays in the library for a whole weekend. She loves to be at the academy and can’t take enough classes. It’s like there’s always something new to learn and she takes every chance to do so. But she can also enjoy a free evening, spent with a friend, chattering, shopping and having nice things like mulled wine and waffles with hot cherries and whipped cream on top.

She can’t believe this year is about to end already. It has been a great year. One more bringing her towards her next big goal: Working for Shield in the field. Or at least in a mobile lab. Jemma is incredibly glad, her parents trusted her enough to let her live with friends in such a big city. After all, she’s the youngest student who has ever visited the academy. She can’t help feeling a certain warm proudness at the thought. _Take that bullies …_

“So …” Susan says, interrupting Jemma’s thoughts. “The new flatmate.”

Ah. It’s that topic again. Jemma isn’t really surprised. Two weeks ago, their friend Martha moved out, to live with her boyfriend. Now, they need to find a new flatmate, since the rent would be too much for just the two of them, event though they both work in a café shop together. Susan desperately wants to convince Jemma to chose Milton, one of their fellow students. Jemma suspects Susan has the hots for him and is hoping to get closer to him that way. But she’s also quite certain that Milton isn’t interested in Susan at all. In fact, he has tried to flirt with Jemma only days ago, by trying to show off his muscles and ramble about how he’s probably good enough to play in the national basketball team soon.

Jemma can’t stand Milton. She thinks he’s boring and arrogant. She can’t imagine living with him, seeing him coming out of the bathroom every morning. Ugh. He would probably walk around the flat half-naked, just to show off some more of his oh so well-defined "manly" body … Now Jemma just has to find a polite way to tell Susan that nope, she doesn't want Milton in her flat. Susan, who has just started to highlight Milton’s qualities again. There aren’t that many, besides his admittedly decent chemistry knowledge.

They leave the streets and walk through the parc that leads to their apartments. It’s very dark and Jemma is actually glad, she’s not alone. Especially, when the wind starts to howl, making the naked trees around them creek. To this late hour, the parc is almost empty. A hedgehog quickly crawls into the bushes when they approach and a owl calls out. Jemma is about to make a joke about ghosts, when she notices something very odd.

In front of them, someone is sitting on one of the benches beside the pathway. When they approach, Jemma realizes it’s a boy. He must be at their age. His posture is slumped, his head lowered to his chest and his hands are gripping his knees.

Although temperatures are below zero, he’s only wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt. Jemma frowns. Something about this feels horribly wrong. She feels the strong urge to ask the boy if he’s alright, but when she makes a step towards him, Susan reaches out, pulling at her sleeve. “Jemma, what are you doing?” She hisses, “You can’t just go and talk to a stranger. Not here in the middle of a forsaken dark park. What if he’s dangerous, if he got a knife or anything?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Look at him. It’s freezing and he’s sitting there just in a shirt. We should at least check on him,” Jemma whispers back. “Maybe he needs help.”

Susan sighs. But she doesn’t hold Jemma back, when she approaches the boy this time. The dim light of a lamp falls on him and Jemma can discover a few more details. He’s thin and kind of lanky, but not very tall. His hair is a curly mess and somehow, he seems vaguely familiar to Jemma. When she’s in front of him, she clears her throat and asks, “Hey, uh, are you alright?”

The boy perks up. When he raises his head and blinks up at her, Jemma recognizes him. She even knows how he’s called: Fitz. She also knows he's Scottish. They have some classes together. He’s the second youngest student at the academy. She tried to talk to him once, at the beginning of the semester, but he barely reacted to her and she quickly decided he was an arrogant idiot, clearly thinking everyone around him was too stupid and not worth his precious time. However, there had always been something strange about him … Something, that sometimes made her think he was just very shy. But she didn’t try to talk to him again. It had taken all her courage to say something to him in the first place.

Now, here on the bench, he looks utterly miserable. A big bruise is blooming around his right eye. Violet, spotted with red. His very blue eyes are bloodshot, and his skin is ghostly pale. There is a splotch of blood right under his nose, that looks a bit swollen. Jemma wonders if he has been in a fight. He doesn’t seem like that person, but who knows.

“I, uh, I’m fine,” he murmurs, avoiding her gaze and looking at his feet instead. “Thank you.”

Jemma frowns. She doesn’t think he’s fine. Not at all. He’s clearly shivering. His breaths sound painful and heavy. And there’s a fine layer of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Are you sure?” She pries, “It’s really cold out here … You’re Fitz, right? Leo Fitz? I’m Jemma. Jemma Simmons. We have some classes together. At the academy.“ She tries a friendly smile.

Fitz looks up at her surprised, looking her up and down. His eyes widen in recognition and he swallows hard. Then he coughs. It’s a rattling, wet noise. Definitely doesn’t sound good, Jemma decides. “Listen … You don’t have to tell us what happened. But you really have to get out of the cold. You’re going to catch yourself pneumonia,” Jemma tells him seriously. “Do you have anywhere to go? Are you still living with your parents or …”

“With my father,” Fitz murmurs. A shadow flicks over his eyes. “And he has just kicked me out.”

Oh. Shit. Jemma’s stomach drops. “I’m sorry,” she says, biting her lip. “So … You have nowhere else to go?”

“Not really. No. But … I’ll be alright. Thank you,” Fitz says, turning away slightly, wrapping his arms around himself. He’s distancing himself, Jemma senses. But she can’t leave him here. It feels all kinds of wrong. He’s sick and lonely and she starts to think his father is responsible for these bruises. Which gives her stomach pain. Her next words come from her heart. “We have a free room in our flat,” she says firmly. 

Susan makes a startled noise behind her. Jemma ignores it.

Fitz blinks. “I … What?”

“We have a free room. You can have it for now.”

His eyes widen. He looks shocked. But there’s also a hint of careful hope in his eyes, that makes Jemma’s stomach hurt even more. “I can’t … That’s too much. Really.”

“No. It’s not. We’re happy to help”, Jemma says, looking over her shoulder at Susan pointedly. Her friend sighs and nods. “Very happy to help,” she murmurs, smiling half-heartedly.

And Milton can find something else easily, Jemma thinks distantly. She nods at Fitz. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the cold. You already sound like you’re developing a very nasty case of flu.”

Fitz hesitates. But after a moment, he slowly gets up. His movements are sluggish and Jemma hopes, he doesn’t have a concussion. Maybe it would be better to get him to a hospital. But the next moment, he steadies himself and looks at her uncertainly. Jemma smiles at him. “It’s really not far. We just have to cross the park,” she says and starts walking, making sure he’s following. He does, his gaze focused on his shoes. So, indeed very shy, Jemma decides, feeling a pang of guilt for so quickly labelling him as arrogant idiot.

Susan follows after them, chewing on her lip.  
  


* * *

Once they arrive in their flat, Susan immediately runs off to her room. But Fitz remains standing in the middle of the hallway, clearly not knowing what to do with himself. He’s still shivering. What’s visible of his skin under the shirt, is covered in an intense goosebumps. His nose is dripping. He’s sniffing noisily now and then.

Jemma looks him up and down, frowning at the puddles he makes on the carpet, and tries to decide, what to do with him first. Shower, she thinks. Warm shower. Yes. That would give her time to search for some warmer clothes for him. And to make tea. And to find their medication against symptoms of flu.

“Why don’t you take a warm shower?” She asks him and when he doesn’t move, worrying his lip with his teeth, she gives him a push into the direction of the bathroom. “Come on. It will help, I’m sure.”

“I, I don’t know,” Fitz stutters, blushing.

But Jemma gives him no chance to say no. She opens the door of the bathroom, shoves Fitz inside rigourosly and closes the door. She remains standing in front of the bathroom for a moment, waiting. When finally, the water is turned on, Jemma nods satisfied and leaves for Susan’s room, knowing her friend will have some proper clothes for Fitz …

Susan is reading on the bed when Jemma enters after knocking at the door lightly. Her friend looks a bit sullen, and Jemma tries to not feel guilty. “Do you have some clothes for him?” She asks softly. “Something warm …”

“The clothes of my brother are in the top shelf,” Susan says, not looking up from her book.

“Thank you.” Jemma opens the wardrobe and finds a few fuzzy jumpers in different colours. Good.

“Is this your new project?” Susan asks from behind.

“What?” Jemma asks distractedly, searching for some pants.

“Your project. Like … the bird back in summer. The one you tried to raise, feeing it with worms you collected in the garden for hours? It died in the middle of a night, right? You were heartbroken. For a month.”

Jemma turns around to face her, frowning. “What exactly are you trying to tell me, Suse?” She asks confused.

“That you’re overreacting again, Jemma. You can’t help everyone. You’re just burdening yourself with another one’s problems again. It isn’t the first and won’t be the last time. And what are you getting back from it? Nothing. Nothing but worries. Which are going to drive you into a fit of depression again. Because you take everything right to your heart and bottle it all up."

Jemma feels a hint of anger. “Susan … What was I supposed to do? Leave him there in the park? He could have died of hypothermia.”

Susan sighs. “Well, Jemma, you can’t save the whole world!”

Jemma can’t believe it. “Would you have left him there, Susan? Would you?”

Her friend shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m aware I can’t help everyone. He would have been alright, in some way. He's not a child."

Jemma grits her teeth. “Well. Now he’s here. And he’s going to stay as long as he needs to.”

“Not forever,” Susan says curtly. “You can’t decide over this flat, over the room, alone. Remember, I'm the one who signed the contract and everything."

Jemma doesn’t say anything to this. She collects all the jumpers and pants she finds and quickly leaves the room, feeling confused in a very strange and unpleasant way.  
  


* * *

When Fitz comes out of the bathroom, he looks different.

Better, Jemma thinks. Definitely better. Refreshed and not so pale anymore. Though, he’s still coughing and wheezing.

And he’s wearing his thin blue shirt again. Which is dirty, Jemma now sees. Some red splotches - blood … - and other stains. She shows Fitz his room and he immediately sits on the bed, barely looking around, obviously relieved.

Jemma leans against the doorframe and watches him while he’s slowly taking off his shoes. His grey socks have some holes. “How long have you been out there?” Jemma asks and immediately realizes, that’s a very private question. “You don’t have to answer,” she hurries to say. “I was just … curious.”

Fitz nervously fumbles with the buttons of his shirt and shrugs. “Might have been two days. I, uh, I could sleep at the train station for most of the night, but an officer told me to piss off in the early morning hours and then I walked around the city, until I found the park. It wasn’t so bad there. It was calm and peaceful …”

“But … Why did you stay there in the cold?” He’s not stupid … He must know exactly, that it would have been dangerous to stay there much longer, Jemma thinks.

“I barely noticed how cold it was, really. I was … I felt kind of numb,” Fitz murmurs. “I couldn’t take anything with me. No clothes. No money. And … I didn’t want to try to come back. He was …” Fitz stops and shivers again, looking haunted. It’s obvious to Jemma, that he won’t say much more about what happened, and she feels a sharp pang of sympathy. She wonders for a moment, why he hasn’t tried to move out long ago and find something for himself. But then, she doesn’t know a lot about him, his family and his past. He must have had his reasons.

Jemma clears her throat and hands Fitz the heap of jumpers she brought with her. “Here … These are from Susan’s brother. He visits every now and then. They may be a bit too big, but they are warm.”

“Thank you,” Fitz mumbles, not looking at her and running his fingers over the fuzzy fabric.

He coughs again and grimaces in pain.

Jemma bites her lip. „That doesn’t sound good. If it doesn’t get better, you should go and see a doctor. I’ll make you tea. It might help.”

Fitz looks up at her wide-eyed. “You … You don’t have to do anything. Please … I don’t want to be a burden,” he says with a hint of desperation in his voice.

Jemma frowns. “It’s just tea, Fitz. I’ll drink a cup too.”

He swallows, but nods. “Alright …” Suddenly, his stomach growls loudly and he freezes, blushing again. Even his ears turn red. “Oh. I’m … I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jemma says, tilting her head. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

“Uh … I think, shortly before … before it happened, I had two sandwiches,” Fitz murmurs, looking aside.

“What?” Jemma asks shocked. “Are you serious? You haven’t been eating anything for almost two days?!”

He shrugs. “I don’t need much …”

God. He has some serious issues, Jemma decides. “I’ll make tea, and some sandwiches,” she murmurs and leaves for the kitchen, before he can beg her again, to not do anything at all.

This is a very weird day.

* * *

Fitz doesn’t just eat the sandwiches. He basically inhales them. Jemma watches him eating mildly amused, stirring her tea.

He eventually notices her watching him, and freezes, his eyes widening. He wipes his mouth hastily. “God. I’m sorry. I … You are being so nice to me … You must think I’m a complete idiot.”

“Well,” Jemma starts, her voice dry. “I did, when you ignored me at the academy.”

Fitz sighs. He rubs the back of his head and swallows. “I’m so sorry. I … It wasn’t what it looked like, I swear. I was just so nervous … I didn’t think you would even look at me. And then you were standing right in front of me, talking and I was … I was nervous. I fucked up. Sorry.”

Jemma blinks. “Nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“But … why?” She doesn’t think she’s that intimidating …

Fitz blushes and this time, it’s a whole other level of blush. His face actually turns red like a tomato. “Uh.” He quickly takes a sip of his tea, and Jemma feels like he doesn’t want to answer her question. Odd. Even odder, considering, that she was horribly nervous to talk to him too. She thought he was cute. And quite attractive with his remarkably blue eyes and curls and pleasantly symmetric features. But since he didn't even look at her when she beamed at him saying hello, she quickly tried to forget that.

Fitz coughs again. And yawns, quickly pressing his hand in front of his mouth.

Jemma smiles. “Maybe you should rest now. Hopefully, you will feel better in the morning.”

He nods and looks down at his feet again. “Thank you. I … I really don’t know, if I deserve your kindness,” he murmurs.

Jemma involuntarily reaches out to lay her hand on his on the table, and he stares at it, wide-eyed. “It’s alright, Fitz. You can stay as long as you need to,” she tells him. His skin is soft and warm. It feels nice to be connected like this. They look at each other and Jemma thinks, it has been a remarkably weird day, with a weird yet strangely exciting end.


	2. Fitz

Warm. It’s so heavenly warm.

Fitz didn’t even realize how cold it has been outside. He definitely does now, lying under a fuzzy blanket and hugging a pillow, feeling something else than emptiness and numbness for the first time in two days.

He still can’t believe he’s in a room in Jemma Simmon’s flat. Of all people who could have walked past, it had to be Jemma Simmons. And she stopped to help. Even though he was behaving like a total idiot when she tried to talk to him at the academy.

It feels like a dream. But it isn't. In a dream, he wouldn't be in so much pain. His lungs are burning and his head is aching. It feels like it's being split apart. Fitz sighs and closes his eyes, replaying the last two hours in his head. Jemma, talking to him and offering her help. Jemma, making him tea. Jemma ...

He still didn't understand, why she is being so nice. But then, she tried to be nice at the academy too back then.

Fitz remembers seeing her for the first time there clear as day.  
  


* * *

It was the first day at the academy. The day was sunny. She walked into the lecture room, the sun making her eyes sparkle in a warm honey-gold. Her nut-brown hair was bound into a tight ponytail, and she fumbled with the tie for a moment, biting her lip as she looked around for an empty seat. She chose one in the first row. Fitz, sitting as far in the back as possible, watched her every move and something inside him glowed. She was beautiful. He wasn’t able to avert his eyes while she slowly pulled her things out of her bag and arranged them on the table neatly. 

When she was done, she straightened her back and folded her hands on the table, looking out of the window, while the room filled with more people. They stood around, chatting and laughing, blocking his view of the girl in the front row.

Fitz fiddled with the buttons of his favourite jumper nervously. It was a bit too warm under it. He felt sweat building on his back already. But he didn’t want to pull it off and risk anyone seeing … Oh no. He didn’t want to think about _that_ when this was the first day of a new life. Fitz frowned and focused on watching the other students. They looked … way older. Well. Fitz expected to be one of the youngest here. Maybe he is the youngest. He could have done something to make himself look older; he realizes. Grow a stubble for example. Everyone here seemed to have a stubble. He absently rubbed over his smooth cheeks.

“Is this seat free?” A strange voice asked beside him. 

Fitz jumped, hit his knees at the table and managed to throw all his things off it. “Ouch!” Fitz rubbed his knees and looked up to see another guy standing in front of him, staring down at him with a bewildered look on his face. He was tall and beefy. His hair was straightened back with a lot of gel, making them look slick. And of course, he had a stubble.

Fitz swallowed. “Uh.” He felt himself blushing and lowered his head. “Sure … It’s, uh, free. Yes. It’s free.”

“Great,” the guy said and it sounded a bit ironic. He sat down and put his things onto the table. “Don’t you want to collect your things?” He asked and Fitz jumped again, noticing his pencils were scattered over the floor. “Sure,” he said, and crouched down, gathering his things as fast as he could. When he tried to get back up, he hit his head on the table. “Ouch!” Fitz called out again. He sat back on his chair, rubbing his head and grimacing. The strange guy threw him a side-glance and frowned.

Fitz’s face glowed. God. He was such an idiot … He wished the ground would open up and swallow him. 

Thankfully, their lecturer arrived the next moment. Fitz didn’t catch her name. She looked stern and didn’t waste any time before she began to attack them with questions. Fitz’s mood brightened immensely. This. This was what he could do without embarrass himself. That was the one thing he was good at. Hopefully.

The lecturer asked a question and Fitz raised his hand. No one else did. Wait. No. Only one other person raised their hand almost as fast as Fitz. The girl in the front row. She was picked and blurted out the answer so fast, the guy beside Fitz made, “Huh?” His hand gripping a pencil frozen over his blank paper.

Fitz grinned. He liked the girl's voice and the way she wiggled a bit on her chair after being told the answer was right. She was good. When the next question came, Fitz’s and the girl’s hand shot up simultaneously. This time he was chosen and he gave the correct answer. The girl turned around and looked at him while he was talking, which distracted him enough to make him stutter in the end. Her eyes were scanning him intently. They had a certain kind of sharpness in them. Fitz met her gaze for a moment. Her lips twitched slightly and she turned around again.

She knew every answer. Every time Fitz raised his hand, Jemma did too. The lecturer looked between them, seeming surprised and a little bit amused. The whole thing seemed like a competition. A competition no one except Fitz and the strange girl in the front row seemed to know of. Fitz felt a strange combination of irritation and admiration. She wasn’t only good. She was amazing. A shame that someone like her would never give him a second look. Fitz threw a look at the clock, realizing class was almost over. The last question came. Jemma’s hand raised immediately. Fitz’s hand twitched – but he left it on his table. She gave her answer and – of course – it was correct. She turned around to look at him and this time, she smiled. Her cheeks were covered in a lovely rose-coloured blush and her eyes sparkled in shades of light brown. Fitz’s throat suddenly felt dry. He looked down and started to pack his things. Everyone around him stood up and started to talk. The guy beside him disappeared quite quickly too. Fitz was quite certain, he wouldn’t sit beside him next time.

Fitz moved deliberately slow. A habit from school times. His memories of bullies waiting for him in front of the door were still fresh. When he eventually looked up, he saw that the room was almost empty, apart from the lecturer, him – and the girl in the front row. She just now finished to pack her bag and turned around, looking at him. The next moment, she moved right in his direction. Fitz’s stomach dropped. Oh no. Oh God. Did she want to talk to him?! But why?

He sat there frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, until she stood right in front of him. Up close, she was even more beautiful, and he could smell her parfum. Sweet but not too sweet. Like the first days of spring.

“Hi,” she said, smiling down at him.

Fitz blinked. His mind was blank.

“I’m Jemma. Jemma Simmons.” The girl added, offering a hand.

Fitz opened his mouth. And – said nothing. Instead, he looked away. 

Jemma stared at him for a long moment. She frowned slightly and her smile started to falter. When Fitz neither moved nor talked and an uncomfortable silence lingered in the space between them, she pulled her hand back slowly and cleared her throat. “Well. Good afternoon,” she said. It sounded cold. Jemma turned around, straightened up and walked away quickly.

Fitz stared after her, every hint of warmth disappearing with her every step away from him. Wait, he thought desperately. Wait, I … She walked out the door and was gone.

Fitz remained, feeling a deep confused sadness. How could he screw this up so bad. This was supposed to be a good day. The beginning of a, a better phase of his miserable life. And what did he do? He acted like an idiot to everyone coming close to him.

I really am the most stupid idiot in the world, Fitz thought and got up with a sigh, feeling powerless and tired. He grabbed his bag and left the room slowly, his head lowered.

After this, Jemma didn’t try to talk to him again. She ignored him. For her, he didn’t seem to exist.

Sometimes, their ways met outside the lecture hall.

One time, Fitz saw Jemma in the hallway, chatting and laughing with two other girls. He stopped dead in his steps and one of the books he borrowed in the library earlier dropped to the floor with a dull thud. A group of older students walking by laughed and whispered to each other, glancing at him. Fitz didn’t even notice them. He stared at Jemma, transfixed. Her laughter was bright. He stood there, in the middle of the hallway, people bumping against him, and just stared at her. When Jemma discovered him eventually, her eyes widened a bit and she tilted her head to the side. But she didn’t smile and her eyes didn’t sparkle. In fact, she looked at him like he was some kind of interesting but unimportant insect. Fitz couldn’t stand it. He picked up his book, turned around and walked away as fast as possible, his cheeks burning.

* * *

  
Fitz coughs and the memories fade. He grimaces when his lungs start to feel like they’re being torn apart. He tries to silence his coughs with the pillow, knowing Jemma and her friend are sleeping. He really doesn’t want to wake them up. He doesn’t want to be a bother.

When the coughing finally stops and he can breathe again, he rolls on his stomach and wraps the blanket around his body as tight as possible. His body feels heavy and his toes and fingers are still numb. But the feeling slowly returns. It starts with a warm prickling everywhere, reminding him of a better time, when he used to play in the snow as a child. He loved snow. It felt nice on his skin and he loved to watch the snowflakes floating through the air. Their gentle swirl soothed him. They didn’t make much noise, not like raindrops, which was nice too. But sometimes, when he went out, he forgot his gloves. He returned into the house with numb ice-cold fingers. His father called him stupid. But his mother smiled and gently rubbed the feeling back into Fitz’s fingers, singing a song about icicles.

A strong wave of bittersweet longing rushes through Fitz. He falls asleep with memories of his mother’s voice.

* * *

The next day, Fitz wakes up feeling worse than the last day. He should have expected it, after being outside in the cold for so long. But he’s still horrified, when he realizes, he can’t breathe without feeling burning pain. His whole body is shivering, his nose is runny and his skin feels unbearable hot. It’s like he’s glowing from the inside out.

The sunlight hurts in his eyes, so he buries his face in the pillow and wishes, he could just fall back asleep. Sleep was sweet nothingness.

But despite feeling dead exhausted, he stays awake, only managing to doze off now and then, only to shake and groan when the next coughing fit comes.

Eventually, the door to his room opens.

“Fitz?” Jemma’s voice says hesitantly. “You’re alright?”

“I’m … I’m fine,” Fitz says, his teeth clattering. He tries to hide further under the blanket, hoping Jemma will leave again. She shouldn’t feel like she has to do more than she did already. He’s not worth it.

Jemma sighs and moves further into the room. “You really don’t sound fine, Fitz. In fact, you sound like you have a horrible case of flu, which I kind of expected after you spent so much time outside, playing snowman.” She walks to his bed, her arms crossed and looks down on him with a frown. “You also look like you have the flu,” she states dryly. The next moment, she reaches out and touches his forehead, which feels like an electric shock. Fitz flinches, but Jemma doesn’t shy away. Her hand is soft. And cool. It feels nice. “You’re burning up,” Jemma says, now sounding worried.

“I’m fine,” Fitz says again, the words barely audible. He coughs and sneezes at the same time. He didn’t think that was possible. And he wishes Jemma wouldn’t see him like this. She must be disgusted … She’s just too nice to show it, he figures.

Jemma’s frown deepens. She takes her hand away. “No. You’re not. Stop saying you are, Fitz. There’s nothing wrong with needing help.”

Fitz would have laughed out if he could. If she only knew … His whole life he had been told to be strong and independent. To man up. And he tried. He always tried. But he was a failure in anything he did. Even now, he’s messing everything up.

Another coughing fit shakes him and he gasps for air, pressing his eyes close.

“Fitz. You should go and see a doctor,” Jemma tells him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “This sounds really bad. And that fever … We need to get it down.” She’s worrying her lips with her teeth and adds, “I can send Susan to the pharmacy. She said she needs something from there anyway. She can get some medication. Something that helps against the fever and the coughing.”

Fitz opens his eyes again, trying to shake his head, but stopping it when everything sways around him and he feels like someone is banging a hammer against his temples. “Please. I … I don’t want to be a nuisance,” he rasped.

Jemma sighs. She looks at him with something like sad curiosity in her eyes. “You say that a lot. But I want to help. You can’t take that away from me, it’s my decision. And therefore, you should accept it. Be glad for it. You know … when I first saw you in that lecture room, I felt like you were a nice guy. Even though you acted like … well. Like a rude person. I thought there was something about you, that made me wish to know you better. I still feel that.” She is silent for a moment, chewing on her lip, her gaze distant. Finally, she straightens and turns around, walking away. “I’m going to get something that helps. But if you don’t get better at all, it really would be better to see a doctor,” she says, leaving the room.

Fitz stares after her, feeling confused and disbelieving. She wishes to know him better? Why would anyone wish that … He was a screw up. But behind the wall of depressive thoughts and feelings, a hint of careful hope stirs.

* * *

A long while later, Jemma returns with a lot of pills, tea and some balm in a little box. “This always helps me, when I’m sick,” she tells Fitz, sitting at the edge of his bed again. “Sit up and take your sweater off.”

“What?” Fitz sputters.

Jemma rolls her eyes, opening the box. The balm smells sharp. “I need to put this balm on your neck and back. It’s going to help, trust me,” she says.

Fitz swallows. But he sits up carefully, groaning when his head aches. He reaches up to pull his sweater off, but his fingers are trembling. “Damn it,” he mumbles.

Suddenly, Jemma’s hand covers his and he freezes. “Let me help,” she says softly.

He clears his throat and nods, feeling lightheaded. Jemma pulls the sweater off carefully and lays it aside. She rubs Fitz’s back with a towel because he’s bathed in sweat and finally cotas her fingers with the sharp smelling balm. “It’s going to feel like it’s burning. But that’s passing fast and it’s really good,” she says quietly.

Fitz just nods. He doesn’t trust his voice right now. She’s so close … He can feel her breath on the skin of his neck. His heart flutters.

Jemma applies the balm to the beck of his neck first and it really feels hot for a moment, but then, a pleasant warmth spreads through him. Fitz sighs. Jemma smiles and moves her gentle fingers further down.

She’s touching me, Fitz realizes stunned. He usually doesn’t like to be touched by anyone. But Jemma’s touch feels strangely okay.

He just starts to relax and enjoy this, when suddenly, Jemma gasps and her fingers stop moving. Fitz freezes and his stomach drops. Shit. He forgot …

“Fitz. What … Where are these scars from?” Jemma breathes. The next moment, Fitz feels a finger running over one of the silver ragged lines on his back carefully and he flinches back from Jemma’s touch, reaching out to grab her wrist gently to keep it from moving. “Please … Don’t,” he whispers, his throat feeling tight.

Jemma’s finger disappears immediately. “I’m sorry,” she says and moves back a bit.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

Fitz closes his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say. Or to do.

Jemma clears her throat behind him. “I … Can I continue, or …”

“Yes,” Fitz says.

It takes a moment until Jemma’s fingers are back, moving on his back, but avoiding the scars.

Fitz’s heart is pounding. He never told anyone.

It’s silent for a long moment. The silence is only broken by their breaths. Jemma’s even and quiet, Fitz’s raspy and heavy.

Fitz remembers what happened the last days. He remembers Jemma’s words. That needing help is okay. He could open up to her. It is safe. He thinks.

After a moment of fighting with himself, he clears his throat. “The scars. They … Uh.” He stops again. Damn. This is hard.

“You don’t need to tell me, Fitz,” Jemma says. “It’s alright.”

“No. I … I think I want to.”

Jemma hums. Her fingers continue moving in gentle circles. “I’m listening. When you’re ready,” she says.

Fitz nods. He inhales deeply. And begins to talk.


	3. Jemma

Jemma can’t fall asleep. It doesn’t surprise her. The things Fitz told her are racing through her mind. Her heart is so heavy with emotions it aches. Outside, the snow is still falling so dense, the word is a flickering white curtain and it doesn’t even feel like it’s late night, without the darkness as orientation in time.

Once Fitz started talking, it seemed like he wasn’t able to stop. Who knows, Jemma wonders, if he ever had the chance to talk about any of this before. She remembers how his quiet trembling voice filled the space between them. How his body tensed up under her hands that were still spreading the balm.

Fitz was born in Glasgow, but he moved to the US with his parents because of his father’s job. His mother died when he was ten years old. Things went downward from there. Fast. 

Fitz said that his father had always been bad-tempered. Impatient. He was also convinced boys had to be tough. They were not supposed to cry or to be weak. When Fitz had a nightmare or cried because he missed his mother, his father called him pathetic and told him to man up. To get himself together. Fitz’s father was moodily and disappointed in his son. He made no secret of that. But it all intensified when Fitz’s father lost his job. He began drinking. With the everlasting stench of booze came the insults. And the beatings. 

The faint white scars on his back … They come from a belt buckle. His father hit him with a belt buckle. God. Jemma feels sick all over again, like she did when she heard it. She can’t believe a father would do something like this to his child. It must have hurt so much. 

Jemma felt disgusted and angry at this faceless man she’s never met. But amidst all the horror and sadness she was feeling, she also found gratefulness for the childhood she had. She felt a bit guilty for it. But she couldn’t stop herself from silently thanking her own parents. 

Sure, it hasn’t always been perfect. But which family is perfect? At least, she has never had to worry about anything. About money, clothes, or … food. God. Her stomach twists when she remembers what Fitz told her about an empty fridge. About how his father used to tell him he was useless and weak and would never manage to live on his own or to have a proper job anyway. Fitz heard these things so often that he started to believe them, Jemma understands. 

Her parents would have never hurt her. Neither physically, nor verbally. In fact, Jemma would call them overprotective. It took her so long to convince her mother she would be alright on her own. To promise she would live with Susan was the only way she could move out. And still, her mother calls her almost every second day. 

Her mother … 

Fitz didn’t have his mother for so many years. So many years, he was trying to please a father who didn’t deserve it. 

Fitz told her, how things weren’t always bad. How sometimes, his father would fall into a strange hysterical kind of happiness, where he wandered through the house humming under his breath, asking Fitz how his day went or preparing an actual proper meal. Days like this filled Fitz with cruel hope combined with careful affection - a leftover from his childhood. Days like this made it difficult for him to leave. 

Jemma gets it. She doesn’t blame him. It’s family. You grow up with everyone telling you family is the most important thing in the world. That you have to get along with them no matter what. That you have to make them proud. That you have to forgive them. Only because they’re family. 

Jemma wishes she would have been there to tell Fitz he didn’t have to try to love someone who abused and belittled him. 

Darn. Now Jemma wants to cry again. She did cry silent tears when Fitz told her. But she was sitting behind him so he didn’t see her face. She was kind of grateful for that.

She faintly hears Fitz coughing in his room. It’s a hollow sound. She hopes he will be able to get some rest. 

Jemma is glad Fitz finally found the strength to leave the poisonous environment he was raised in. Even though he left it without a plan and ended up in a parc, in a freezing night in winter. Staying was no option. Not after Fitz snapped, after he finally fought back instead of resigning. After he pushed his drunk father away and left the house in a hurry. He told her his father yelled at him to never come back. 

Jemma rolls around once again, burying her face in her pillow. She listens to the steady noise of the falling rain and a little while later manages to fall asleep without really being aware of it. 

* * *

Fitz seems to feel better in the morning. He’s still coughing and his breaths make rattling noises, but the feverish gleam has disappeared from his eyes and there’s no layer of sweat covering his forehead.

He comes out his room when Jemma is preparing her breakfast, rubbing the back of his head and chewing his lip. “Uh. I wanted to thank you again. I feel better. And … I can search something for my own now. I …”

Jemma shakes her head, accidentally pouring too much milk into her cereals. “You don’t have to. Not now.” Maybe not ever, she adds in silence, but she can’t be sure yet. Susan has a say in this as well and Jemma doesn’t even know if Fitz would want to live here permanently. Sure, they know each other better now, they shared things one doesn’t share with everyone - but still. They’re still almost strangers. “You don’t have to hurry. I know how difficult it is to find an affordable flat around here,” she smiles at him. 

Fitz looks down at his bare feet. “Thank you. I noticed. But ... I really don’t want to live here for free. It doesn’t feel right. I will find a job soon.”

Jemma gets that. She wouldn’t like it either. “You don’t have to hurry with this as well. But … You can help me with these dishes if you want to,” she smiles.

“Of course,” Fitz says quickly, joining her at the sink, taking the cleaned plates from her, drying them with a towel. 

They work in comfortable silence for a while. 

“Thank you,” Fitz says eventually, without looking at her. “Thanks for … Listening. Yesterday.”

Jemma smiles. “Oh. You’re very welcome. I hope talking helped. A bit.”

“It did. I felt … lighter.” Fitz clears his throat and takes another plate. 

Jemma can’t help asking the question burning on her tongue. “Did you talk with anyone else about these things before?” 

Fitz hesitates. “No,” he finally says quietly. “You’re the first.” He pauses. “You won’t … tell anyone else, would you?” He finally asks, his voice uncertain. 

“Never,” Jemma says immediately. 

“Good,” Fitz says. He sounds relieved. 

They work in silence again, and Jemma wonders, if anyone in the past did that. Passing something personal on to a stranger. The thought hurts. She hopes Fitz trusts her enough to not be scared she would do that. 

* * *

The rest of the holidays pass faster than Jemma has anticipated.

Fitz recovers further and soon the last bit of coughing and sneezing stops.

Susan doesn’t exactly treat Fitz friendly, but she doesn’t glare at him anymore or scoffs when she gets a glimpse of him. It seems like they have a secret truce. Maybe it has something to do with the waffles Fitz makes them one evening. They are delicious. 

“Fitz, these are fantastic,” Jemma tells him, putting more whipped cream on hers. Susan nods. She doesn’t say anything, but she obviously enjoys the waffles just as Jemma does. 

“It’s just waffles,” Fitz says, his ears turning red. “Nothing special.” But his eyes sparkle. He looks happy.  
  


Jemma finds she likes Fitz more and more. It feels good to be with him. Talk to him. It’s simple and never gets boring. They even start to finish each other’s sentences, laughing in surprise when they realize. It feels like they are on the same wavelength.

One day, Jemma finds two coupons for ice skating in the letterbox. She realizes it has been ages since she has been skating. Jemma loved it as a child. She knows Susan loves it too and feels a bit guilty, when she asks Fitz instead. 

“Have you ever been ice-skating?”

Fitz laughs and looks up from where he was looking at job ads in the newspaper. “No. I’m not good at such things. I tried to do skating once, and I fell all the time. Same with skiing. I’m just … horribly clumsy.” He shrugs and grins crookedly. 

Jemma chuckles. She doesn’t tell him she excels at both ice skating and skiing although she feels like it. She just swallows it down. In her experience, people don’t react well to bragging. “I can teach you. It’s not that difficult.” She shows him the coupons and winks at him. 

Fitz just now seems to realize she actually wants to go skating with him. His eyes widen and he swallows. “Uh. I don’t know …”

Jemma reaches out, touching his arm. “Oh come on! It will be fun.”

Fitz blinks at her fingers on his skin and nods slowly. “Okay.”

It is fun.

Fitz is clumsy indeed. It takes a while, until Jemma can convince him to let the railing he’s clinging to go. She shows him how he has to move his feet, but he falls right on his stomach and first Jemma startles, thinking he hurt himself, but Fitz starts laughing where he’s laying on the ice and she joins in. When he managed to get on his feet again, Jemma takes his hands and pulls him after her slowly, smiling at him. 

They do little else. He just follows her, looking into her eyes, his face serene. She looks right back, marveling at how blue his eyes are in the bright light of the hall, and in contrast to the pale ice. 

After a while, Fitz takes a break, sitting at the side while Jemma skates a few fast rounds, just like she used to when she was little, and her mother chased her, laughing. She loses herself in the movements. When she returns to Fitz some time later, he looks at her in awe. 

“You’re good at this,” he says. Jemma blushes. “Oh. No. I’m … Okay, I guess,” she shrugs. 

Fitz smiles and shakes his head. “No, you’re great. Really. You … The way you move. It’s so elegant. You’re talented.”

Jemma thinks she blushes even more. Her face burns. “Thank you, Fitz.”

He grins. “Would you like some hot chocolate? They have some over there.”

Jemma smiles. “I’d like that.”

* * *

A few days later, Fitz beams when he enters the kitchen, looking satisfied and hopeful at the same time, his face slightly flushed and his breath elevated, as if he’d hurried home. “I have a job,” he says, dropping on a chair.

Jemma is cutting some apples on the counter. She turns around and smiles at Fitz. “Oh. That’s great. I’m happy for you!”

Fitz nods. “Yeah. It means I will be able to pay my part of the rent. Uh. That’s, if you - you and Susan - still want me to stay for a while,” he stutters, the slight flush on his face deepening. He starts to play with the buttons of his jumper nervously.

Jemma smiles. “Of course, you can stay. And don’t worry about Susan. Just make a few more waffles. Where are you going to work?”

Fitz bends forward in the chair and his eyes light up in obvious happiness. “It’s at a veterinary clinic. They said I can do cleaning and maybe repairing things because I’m good at that, but I also might help with the animals. Easy things, like feeding them.”

“Wow,” Jemma says. “I might get jealous of you. And I definitely have to visit you there.”

“I’d like that,” Fitz says quietly.

Jemma almost misses the awestruck glance he gives her. Only almost. It makes her heart flutter in confusion.

The days pass. Most are nice. 

On Christmas, Fitz watches Jemma phone her parents with a strange blank expression on his face. But when she looks at him, he quickly hides his face behind a book. Jemma’s stomach drops. She can imagine what’s going through his head. Christmas is such a family thing. She asks Fitz if he’s ever seen “Elf.” He hasn’t. So she puts the movie on, they sit on the couch with tea and they laugh a lot. To Jemma’s surprise, Susan joins them a while later, putting a plate with biscuits on the couch table. 

* * *

The new semester starts and Jemma has a ton of work right at the start. She knows it’s the same for Fitz. They don’t have all classes together and sometimes, she’s home sooner than him. Other days, she comes home to him cooking. Today, he’s making his pancakes. Jemma inhales the scent when she comes in, smiling. The next moment, she discovers a few newspapers on the couch table, where Fitz has circled rent advertisements with a red pencil. Jemma feels a strange kind of sadness at the sight. She wishes she could tell Fitz she doesn’t _ want _ him to leave. Like, never. She already can’t imagine the flat without him. Without the smell of his pancakes coming from the kitchen, without finding his monkey socks on the floor and seeing his red face when she giggles about them, without talking about space and time until late night, without … Fitz. She feels heavy with emotions. 

Suddenly Susan storms into the flat, slamming the door and throwing her bag into a corner with an exasperated huff.

Jemma frowns. “What’s wrong?” She asks carefully, looking up at Susan, whose face is flushed in an angry red. “Milton,” she presses out through gritted teeth. “He kissed Melanie in the hallway today. Melanie! Can you believe it?!

Jemma quickly tries to hide the grin starting to spread on her face behind her hand. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“He’s an asshole,” Susan murmurs and Jemma prevents herself from saying, I told you so. The next moment, Susan smells the pancakes and her eyes widen. "Pancakes? Are you making pancakes?”

“No,” Jemma says, her lips still twitching. “Fitz is making them.”

“Oh.” Susan first frowns, but then her expression starts to lighten up. “That’s nice of him.”

Looks like Fitz with his pancakes and waffles, and his manners isn’t that much bad of a flatmate after all, Jemma thinks. She takes another look at the newspaper with the red circles and swallows. 

* * *

The next afternoon, Jemma is waiting for Fitz’s lesson to end, when suddenly, a voice behind her says, “Hey Jemma.”

Jemma flinches and turns around, seeing Milton standing in front of her. Her mood immediately sinks. “Oh. Hey Milton,” she says unenthused. 

Milton smirks and leans against the wall, running a hand through his slick hair. “I have tickets for the concert next week. You want to go with me?”

Jemma wrinkles her nose. Seriously? Didn’t she show often and clear enough that she doesn’t wish to spend time with Milton? “No. Thank you. I don’t like crowds and loud music,” she says, already turning around again. 

Milton’s face falls. He catches himself fast, but not fast enough. Jemma sees a hint of humiliation and slight anger on his face, before it’s replaced by another confident smirk. She frowns. 

“Tell me if you change your mind,” Milton tells her. 

That will never happen you berk, Jemma thinks grimly. Finally, the door of the lecture hall opens and the students come out. Fitz is one of the last, like usually. He looks lost in his thoughts and his shoulders are pulled up, as if he’s trying to make himself look smaller, but when he discovers Jemma, his whole posture changes. He straightens up and smiles at her, his blue eyes sparkling. 

Jemma smiles back at him. “Ready for lunch?”

“Yeah. My stomach has been grumbling the last thirty minutes,” Fitz says, chuckling. 

“Bye, Milton,” Jemma says casually and she and Fitz go past him. Fitz looks at Milton and something in his eyes changes. He suddenly looks nervous. Milton glares at Fitz and mumbles, “Bye Jemma, see you,” before he smooths down his leather jacket and walks away, his arms swinging. 

“Do you know Milton?” Jemma asks Fitz. 

“Not really,” Fitz says evasively and clutches his bag and books tighter to his chest. It looks defensive. Jemma frowns. This is strange. He’s definitely nervous. But why? 

Only two days later, Jemma learns the reason for Fitz’s behavior. 

* * *

Jemma’s in a good mood when she exits the library. She found some great books for her term paper and can’t wait to share her ideas with Fitz. He’s always such a good listener and an even better muse. When she walks down the hallway, she suddenly hears loud laughter. Jemma turns around. 

When she sees what’s happening in front of her, she freezes. 

There’s Milton and his friends Tom and Christopher, all wearing an ugly happy grin on their faces. They’re surrounding Fitz, who stands with his back to the lockers, his eyes wide, but his mouth a grim thin line. He’s clutching his bag to his chest and even from the distance, Jemma can see sweat glistening on his forehead. Her stomach clenches when she realizes what’s going on. And what it means. 

Jemma remembers Fitz’s stories about being bullied throughout his whole school career. He told her they were usually waiting for him in the schoolyard, where it was easier to not get noticed by teachers. They were calling him names and on many occasions even beat him. For being smart. For being different. For being himself. Hot anger rushes through her, when she sees Milton taking a threatening step towards Fitz. 

The next second Jemma can move again, and she walks right up to them. “Leave him alone!” She calls out, and everyone looks at her. Fitz’s eyes widen. 

Milton’s eyebrows shoot up. He runs a hand through his gelled hair and Jemma notices how he tries to stand straighter, bulking his muscles. Idiot. “Well now, look at that, Jemma comes to rescue a damsel in distress,” Milton says and the other boys giggle.

Fitz’s face is red. He looks down at his feet. Jemma glares at Milton. “Oh shut up. You’re such an idiot, Milton. Don’t you have anything better to do? Anything not involving being a total jerk? What about studying, with your grades I wonder you’re here at all.”

Milton looks surprised for a moment, but that quickly changes into anger. “Why do you care about the weirdo anyway. He’s not your boyfriend, isn’t he,” he scoffs, looking down at Fitz with amused disdain in his eyes. 

Jemma fumes inside. She can feel the rage making every fibre of her body burn. God. Milton really is the worst. So he thinks a woman only wants men like _ him _? Men who don’t care about anything but their look, their muscles and money?

She can’t stand this anymore. She can’t stand _ him _ anymore. 

“Actually,” Jemma says, raising her chin. “He is.”

Fitz gasps.

Milton frowns.

Jemma’s heart is pounding. Her mind starts thinking again, asking her what she’s doing. But now, the words are out, and she has to act accordingly. So, she reaches out, taking Fitz’s hand and squeezing it. “Come on,” she says. “We have to hurry. We’re already late for the next lesson.”

Fitz makes a surprised noise and stares at their intertwined hands dazzled. But he lets Jemma pull him away.

“If you ever want a real man, you can always ask me out, beautiful!” Milton calls and Jemma hears him and the other boys breaking into a fit of laughter. The rage makes her cheeks burn. But when she takes a look back, Milton is staring after them, his face strangely blank, and Jemma shivers involuntarily. She has a certain somber feeling, Milton might be way worse than they all think he is.

* * *

“Why did you do this?” Fitz asks, when they’re walking home. 

Jemma shrugs. “Milton is an idiot and the worst is, he’s an idiot who wants to date me. He thinks he’s oh so great and attractive and all girls want to run after him … Maybe this will shut him up for a while.”

Fitz makes a doubtful noise. “Guys like him … They always find encouragement. From the people around them. It’s like being an alpha in a wolve pack. You’ve seen them. Milton doesn’t have a reason to doubt himself. He’s … attractive. And he knows it.”

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “I don’t find him attractive. I think his character is destroying the fact that he has a symmetric face. You know, sometimes being an ugly person makes you look ugly.”

Fitz smiles. He looks happier after Jemma’s words. “Yeah. That’s true,” he says softly. 

Jemma clears her throat. Time, to ask the uncomfortable questions. “Fitz … Why were they crowding you? Are they bullying you?”

Fitz hurries to answer, his voice sounding nervous. “No. No, it’s … nothing. It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t! They were threatening you. I could see it. Why?”

Fitz sighs heavily. “Alright. I … I made a mistake. I … They came to me after class one day, and asked me, if I could help them. With their homework. I said yes. And after that, they wanted me to do all their stuff. Which I refused. That’s it,” he shrugs, smiling sadly.

Jemma swallows. “Oh Fitz.”  
  
“Yeah. Well … They were friendly at first. And I thought … I didn’t know anyone so I thought I could take the opportunity to make some friends.” He shakes his head. “That was stupid.”

“They didn’t want to be your friends. They want to exploit you,” Jemma says and feels the anger boiling in her stomach. “I’m sorry, Fitz.

Fitz looks down. “Yeah. Well. When I refused to do all their stuff anymore, because it really was too much, they started to wait for me in the hallway, threatening me, telling me they would take care I never will finish the academy.”

Jemma gasps. This is worse than she thought. “You should tell someone!” 

“I’m not a sneak.” Fitz sounds almost offended. 

Jemma sighs. “But … they can’t get away with this. It’s disgusting. Why are they even at the academy when they don’t want to work!” 

Fitz shrugs. “They do what they want. But usually, at least in my experience, bullies eventually get bored. I’m used to it anyway.” There’s so much resignation in his voice, so much echo of past pain, it makes Jemma’s heart ache.

She shakes her head. “No Fitz. You can't just let them do what they want. You found the strength to get away from your father, you can find strength to do something against these bullies too. I’ll help you. We’re now supposed to act like a couple in front of them anyway.” She chuckles. 

Fitz looks at her surprised. “Really?”

Jemma smiles. “Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Fitz smiles carefully. “Yeah. We are friends.”

Exactly. They're friends. What's pretending a relationship between friends? If anything, it's going to make them even closer. Jemma would like that. A lot.


End file.
